Failure to Match: An Enemies to Lovers Billionaire Matchmaker Romance

“Jamie.”

I kept my eyes shut, kept my breathing even, my body limp.

Jackson brushed a piece of my hair away from my face, his fingers caressing my temple as he pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder. Our legs were tangled under the sheets, my back locked against his chest thanks to the possessive arm he had wrapped around me.

I hadn’t gotten dressed after the bath he’d given me last night so, unlike him, I was fully naked. It was heaven, and as soon as I opened my eyes, it would have to end.

“I know you’re awake.” Another sweet, gentle press of his mouth. This one on my neck, right over my fluttering pulse.

“You know no such thing. S’just a theory.”

The warmth of his laugh dripped down to places it shouldn’t have been able to reach. With a deep, satisfied sigh, I pressed my ass to the raging erection he was sporting under his sweats.

He hissed; I smiled. He nipped at my earlobe; I pushed harder and wiggled⁠—

I was flat on my back in an instant, giggling as Jackson pinned my wrists, shoved my thighs open with his knee, and attacked my neck.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded gruffly. “We need to talk.”

“Five more minutes,” I pleaded quietly.

My wish was granted. I kept my eyes shut as he spoiled my skin with tender kisses, tracing them over my neck, across my collarbones, down my breasts, stomach, thighs…

“Jamie.” Right on the five-minute mark. I was sure of it. “You’re splayed out naked in front of me and I only have so much self-control. We need to talk before I dive tongue-first into your sweet pussy again.”

My fingers curled around fistfuls of buttery Egyptian cotton as his tongue traced a teasing line across my hip bone, making me shiver.

“I don’t see the problem,” I breathed.

“We don’t have time. Minerva’s expecting us soon.”

My eyes snapped open.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit. “What time is it?”

I’d set an alarm. Why hadn’t it gone off? Where was my phone?!

I bolted upright so fast it made my vision sparkle and darken. I blinked and blinked, trying to clear it. “What time is it?” I asked again. And why was he being so slow to answer?

My first progress meeting with Minerva was at nine and there was a lot of sunshine spilling through those windows. It was alarmingly bright.

“Half past eight,” Jackson said just as my vision cleared. I barely even heard him over his ridiculously handsome face. How was he more beautiful this morning than he had been last night? Stupid oxytocin.

The air was sucked out of the room when I met his gaze. He was fully clothed and crowding me on the bed, I was fully naked and vulnerable…

Again with the power imbalance thing. My libido really loved that shit.

No, that was a lie. My libido loved that shit with Jackson. There was a difference.

“Tonight.” His voice was a dark, promising gravel. “I’ll fuck you right after we come to an agreement.”

“About?” I sounded weirdly out of breath.

“The marriage contract you’ll be signing. I assume you’ll want to negotiate a decrease in your compensation, given your visceral distaste for financial security and comfort.”

My heart stuttered.

“I’m not going to marry you. Last night didn’t change that.” Last night shouldn’t have even happened. Tonight certainly wasn’t going to.

“Save it for the negotiations.”

No.

Not a chance. Entering into a contractual marriage with Jackson Sinclair would be a catastrophically horrible idea that would end in nothing short of disaster for me. It wasn’t going to happen.

Breaking my gaze away, I snatched a pillow from behind me and held it up to my chest. “Can you close your eyes for a sec?”

A pause. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.” I needed to get dressed and run back to my suite, and I knew for a fact that I didn’t look good while folded over and shoving on a skirt.

He smiled but complied, shutting his eyes so I could scramble out of his bed.

“Keep them closed ‘til I say.”

The meeting was being held at Minerva’s home, which was around a fifteen-minute drive. I had exactly eleven minutes to run back to my suite, feed Toebeans, brush my teeth, tame my sex-tangled hair into a semipresentable bun, and get dressed. It was tight but doable, so long as I didn’t get distracted.

“The marriage only has to last a year, but I’m thinking the contract should have a flexible-term clause, just in case Minerva decides to pull something last minute.”

Wait, where were my clothes? I spun around, trying to locate where Jackson had put—ah, the ottoman.

“We also have to argue about your compensation. I’m thinking fifty million as the base pay, plus another fifty for each produced offspring, if any. It’ll be up to you.”

I reached for the clasp of my bra again. It had snapped out of my clammy grip when Jackson said the word “offspring.”

Was that what he expected? That I’d be able to marry him, have his child, and then just… walk away from it all after one year?

“You’ll have all the negotiation power here, though,” he went on. “I’d suggest using it to your advantage.”

I shoved into my skirt, ignoring him. We could have this argument when I wasn’t rushing out the door.

“I’m taking your silence as a positive sign.”

“You shouldn’t.”

He chuckled like I was joking. “Can I open my eyes now?”

“Go for it.” I was halfway buttoned up anyway. My focus remained fixed on my working fingers as Jackson rose to his feet. “Can you do me a quick favor? I don’t know where my phone is, can you call me a cab?”

He stepped right into my bubble. “Why do you need a cab?”

“Because you refused to give me garage access, so I left my car back at my place.”

“No, I mean, why wouldn’t we just go together?”

“Where?”

“My aunt’s. I don’t see the point in taking two separate cars.”

What was he talking about? “Why would you go with me?”

“Because she emailed yesterday morning and demanded that I accompany you.”

“What? Why?” I thought the whole point of the meeting was to provide her with honest and unfiltered progression updates. How was I supposed to do that if Jackson was there, supervising the whole thing?

“I’ve stopped trying to make sense of Minerva’s whims,” he said. “But if you wanted my best guess, I’d say her decision was prompted by Imogen, seeing as how she called me right after her bi-weekly reading.”

I frowned up at him.

“Imogen is her tarot reader,” Jackson supplied.

“No, I know who she is.” That wasn’t why I was confused, but we didn’t have time to talk about why I was confused. “Fine, yes, let’s just go together. But we can’t be late, so I’ll see you downstairs in…”

“Eight minutes?”

“Eight minutes.”

I went straight for the door, threw it open, and yelped as my spine folded in half, my hand shooting out to prevent the incoming crash.

“Oh!”

The black ornate trolley rattled with the shock of my weight, and my face halted less than an inch from the steaming pot of coffee, but I managed to steady myself just in time.

“Are you all right, dear?” Molly—or maybe it was Mabel—placed a gentle hand on my shoulder while her sister helped me straighten.

“Yes, sorry.” I blinked down at the trolley I’d almost knocked over. Two cups, two sets of cutlery, two silver lids covering two breakfast plates…

Ah, crap.

My hands moved to my skirt, subtly checking to make sure it was on straight—something I should have done before opening the door.

“Good morning, Molly, Mabel.” I kept my voice as collected as I could, considering the circumstances. If I acted like I hadn’t been caught engaging in highly inappropriate and unprofessional behavior, maybe they’d believe it.

Then he happened. Jackson appeared behind me, choosing to stand close enough for his chest to brush my back. I saw it happen in real time—the pure, unfiltered glee that flashed across the twins’ faces.

“What’s all this?” Jackson asked, head bending over my shoulder to look. He was pressed right up to me now.

I didn’t know if he noticed how glassy and soft Molly’s eyes were getting as she watched us, but I sure did. The guilt was going to eat me alive when it sunk in.

Mabel was the one to respond. She seemed to be holding it together more effectively than her sister. “Just a bit of breakfast. Back in you go. We didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She used the trolley to herd us back into the bedroom, talking over my every attempt at getting out a protest.

“We were going to just leave it outside, but this is much better. We wouldn’t want the food to get cold now, would we? Sit, sit. Molly and I will be out of your hair in a moment.”

The distance between me and the door grew with every backward step I was forced to take. As much as I appreciated the gesture, I really, really didn’t have time for it. “Mabel, I’m so sorry, but I have to⁠—”

“Sit.”

I was not given a choice in the matter. She simply gripped my shoulder and pushed me onto the couch I’d been backed into.

“Mabel, we’ve got to get going,” Jackson tried. Unlike me, he was still standing. She couldn’t reach his shoulder without a step stool.

“Nonsense. It’s a Saturday, is it not?” She propped her fists against her plump hips and frowned up at him like a chiding mother. “Whatever you’ve got going can certainly wait until after you eat. Now sit.” She snapped her fingers.

He sat.

“Good.” After a firm nod of approval, she turned and marched away, grabbing a starry-eyed Molly on her way out.

I stared blankly at the closed door, guilt and anxiety clawing at my chest. This was my fault. I’d created this mess.

“Hey.”

I blinked over to Jackson. “Did you talk to them already?” I asked, knowing how little time we had left. “What did you say?”

“Later.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got six minutes to get out the door. Tell me what you need to do before then.”

“Brush teeth, wash face, get dressed, feed Toebeans, fix my hair, grab my laptop,” I recited. “Oh and find my phone.”

“All right.” He stood and gestured toward the ensuite. “All your grooming stuff can be done in there. There’s spare everything in the cupboards to your left when you walk in. Your phone’s probably in my office. I can grab it.”

Wait, “But⁠—”

“It’ll take you three minutes to run to your suite, and another two to make it to the front door. And that’s if you’re not intercepted.”

Damn it. “But Toebeans⁠—”

“His breakfast will be two hours late; he’ll live. If you don’t want the maids to know you spent the night, I’ll run and grab your clothes for you as soon as I change. Just tell me which ones.”

When I hesitated, he glanced at his watch again.

“Fine. Okay. Yellow blouse and light jeans, both hung in the closet. Oh, and fresh underwear, please. Top bedside drawer.” I froze, remembering. “Don‘t… don’t look in the bottom drawer.”

I knew I’d fucked up before he even grinned.

He was definitely going to look in the bottom drawer.